Of Little Talks and Large Discoveries
by BlackBandit111
Summary: Post Midnight. The Doctor and Jethro have a talk about who people really are. JethroxDoctor FRIENDHSIP.
1. Chapter 1

**I know I should be updating other stories! _I know! _But this idea just would not leave me alone! So here it is and enjoy!**

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When the Doctor finds Jethro, he is leaning over a railing overlooking the rest of space. The dark hair is tousled slightly with the wind, the dark clothing making the already pale face transparent in it's appearance. The Doctor leans against the railing alongside Jethro and they stand together in silence for a few moments.

"You're old." It is said with a certain sadness, a small, melancholy trill to it. The Doctor is staring at the young man with something in his face- something that is akin to being ashen- and his gaze is almost sympathetic.

"Yes." The reply is quiet and subdued, and the Doctor's brows crease. This is not the Jethro he saw earlier. This is the one that was tired, always so tired; this was a worn, weary person who had seen death and destruction and the worst of humanity, but also known warmth and kindness and the brightness of a golden heart. The Jethro he thought he'd seen had been dark; not incredibly dark...still youthful. He had seemed moody and, well, like a teenager. But he seemed normal. Jethro is misunderstood.

Misunderstood indeed.

"Very old." The Doctor adds quietly.

"Yes."

"From when?" The older man asks. What he means is "when are you from".

The younger sighs. "How'd you know?"

The Doctor swallows. "Your 'parents'," he admits. "Usually in a panicked situation, people look to the things they love the most- for parents, they would look for their child. Everything _but _you seemed to be on the Cane's minds." By not speaking their first names, the Doctor almost thinks he can heal the broken form before him.

But Jethro merely pushes some hair out of his face. "I knew someone would notice at one point," he says softly, and the Doctor remains silent, which encourages Jethro to continue. "They're good people, the Canes...maybe not so patient or tolerable, but they were kind."

"Because they thought you were their son."

"Yes." And then Jethro says two words that the Doctor is sure he will never forget, no matter how much he may try. They are regretful and cracked and maybe even slightly tearful. "I'm sorry."

The Doctor has seen Jethro cry once today. It was heartwrenching the first time. He truly does not wish to experience it again.

His response is genuine, as is his small smile. "_I forgive you." _Because the Doctor knows what Jethro is talking about when he says he's sorry. He's talking about earlier that day, when he couldn't find the courage to stand up for what was right, and when he knew he should have done something...anything. And he didn't.

And the Doctor knows, above all else, that this is what is troubling the man so.

Jethro deflates before him, his shoulders slumping. In relief or something else entirely, the Doctor does not know. The atmosphere seems much lighter and less tense suddenly.

"From when?" The Doctor asks again, because he just _has _to know.

Jethro smiles at him, but it seems cracked. "Oh," he says, and there is a very slight waver there, "a long, long time ago. Longer than even you, Doctor."

The Doctor tries to hide his scoff, but is unsuccessful. His eyes are aflame and his face is pulled tense. "I doubt that."

Jethro looks kindly at him, and it is then the Doctor realizes that this is true. This is the look a wise, old man would give a bemused pupil. "Oh, but I am, and it was," he assures.

The Doctor's brows furrow as he thinks furiously. His lips are drawn into a tight line and he can feel Jethro's cerulean gaze upon him. "So...how old _are _you?"

And Jethro throws back his head and _laughs. _The Doctor hasn't actually heard Jethro laugh yet except for a barking, sarcastic sort of noise, and the bright, cheery sound that the young man is making now is genuine. Light seems to shine from the suddenly childish face, and the Doctor can't help but smile too. The laughter is contagious.

"Oh Doctor," Jethro says, swallowing back the rest of his chortles, "I am old enough to tell you that I haven't laughed like that in years."

The word _years _weighs heavy in the air, like a tangible thing. The Doctor is once again aware he is talking to someone his senior in wisdom, although he does not look it in age. It is hard to believe that someone like Jethro could ever be wiser or older than himself, considering he has made armies run and monsters stop in their tracks.

"Who did you lose?" He rephrases his question to see if he can somehow get a person's name, get a sense of the time period. The Doctor knows much about loss- too much- abd he can almost see the same crack that runs along Jethro's soul, the identical crack that runs along his own. He wants to know Jethro's pains and wants to mend him somehow because right now, he seems so shattered. He wants to do something right for Jethro.

Jethro immediately sobers, his face dark in the dimming light. Donna is waiting for him in the TARDIS, the Doctor knows, but he can't bring himself to just abandon the young man like that. "I lost someone very close to me," Jethro said, his voice low. "Someone special. Someone who I can never forget. My best friend; my life." He sighs. It is incredibly heavy. "And I miss him more with every beat of my heart."

The Doctor is quiet for a moment, digesting this. "You loved him." It is not a question.

"Yes." It is not an answer nor a query; it is something else entirely, something that just _tells _the Doctor what Jethro means; what he is trying to say. How he wants this message to be conveyed, how the simple word could mean far more than its own value. How Jethro loves the man he lost, but not as one may think; he loves him like one loves a best friend, or a brother, or a confidant.

The Doctor knows one word can mean so much, but finds it increasingly hard to believe the man in front of him, barely into teenage years it seems, to carry this knowledge. The weight of these worlds cannot yet be so heavy upon so many? "What was his name?"

Jethro gazes at him levelly, and the Doctor somehow finds himself unnerved by the intensity. He stares right back. "He is the Once and Future King, the one all the legends speak of. He was the greatest man I have ever known and ever will know; he is the light to the darkness of the world. He will return again when his land needs him most." He smiles, but it does not pass his lips. "Need you really a name?"

The Doctor no longer needs a name, because he's not a stupid man, and he's heard the legends and the tales and the songs. In his heart, he can tell what Jethro speaks is true. The Doctor opens his mouth to speak, but finds nothing suitable to say. Besides, he doubts he could get it around the lump in his throat.

Jethro laughs, but it is echoed and hollow. It is nothing like the joyful noise the Doctor heard earlier. "So you do not need a name. Now as you hold this information, Doctor, tell me: would you continue to call me Jethro?"

And the Doctor has a second heart attack that day- not because of Jethro's words, but because of how he says them. The Doctor is well aware who Jethro is talking about, and he is flabbergasted, amazed, astounded, and maybe even a little fearful if he admits this to himself. But he is the Oncoming Storm, the Destroyer of Worlds, and he cannot simply admit to himself that he may be afraid of the teenager that stands in front of him.

"You're not-?" His voice rises a few octaves, but the Doctor can't bring himself to care. Suddenly, he is the cheerful, beaming and crazy man he is known as throughout time and space; the man with the spiky untamed hair and the wild, untrimmed personality. He has all the world on his fingertips.

Jethro raises an eyebrow so high the Doctor is afraid it will disappear into Jethro's hairline. "I am." He seems to stand a little taller at this, and his gothic clothes fade away. He is no longer an insecure, moody teenage boy, but a mighty, all knowing, strong willed man. The one spoken of throughout time, the one who's name is whispered around campfires. They have tales, songs, and hymns about him, and he holds the appearance of one so young.

The Doctor can't help but grin in incredulity, and he must look terribly funny, because Jethro bursts into peals of laughter.

And suddenly, everything makes sense. "Come with me," the Doctor says breathlessly, and Jethro's smile fades. "Come with me. We can see him. I can bring you to him." This is the way the Doctor can make things better, he knows- he can fix this shattered being, amazing in all of his power yet low in all of his guilt. He can fix this. Maybe not with a sonic screwdriver or psychic paper, but he _can_, and he will.

Jethro is already shaking his head. "We can't. It's Timelocked-"

"Not all of it," the Doctor interrupts with a smile beginning to form on his lips, and Jethro stares at him. "Not all of it is Timelocked."

And he can see it dawn upon Jethro as he swallows and grins, and the Doctor knows.

"Do you have any bags?" He asks.

"Does it even matter?" Jethro asks amusedly and the Doctor shakes his head, grinning like the madman with the box he truly was.

"Not in the slightest. My friend's waiting for us; _Allons-y!" _

"The red headed, hot tempered one?" Jethro inquires.

"Yeah, but well, she's not so bad once you get to know her." The Doctor stops walking, re-thinking this statement.

Jethro raises that eyebrow again. "_Oh really?"_

The Doctor, deciding on his answer, nods. "Well_, yeah,_ really!" And he says it in only the way the Doctor can, and after it the conversation tapers off. They walk in silence a few moments, before he adds, "you really must tell me where you got that expression from."

Jethro looks puzzled, brows creasing. "What expression?"

"You're eyebrow, when you raise it," The Doctor explains with a smile. "Where'd you learn it?"

And Jethro smiles his first real, radiant smile that night and says with a voice that is clearly in the past, "well, I knew an old man- a physician- and his name was Gaius…"

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**I hope the Doctor was in character, I needed him to ask Jethro questions so Jethro could be the wise one because he's been around for longer...ANYWAYS, thanks for reading! If you guys want another chapter with his meeting with Arthur, I'll write it, but I don't think it will go much farther than that (unless, of course, you ask.) **

**My first Doctor Who story. How'd I do?**

_Review?_


	2. Chapter 2

**Hi! So this was supposed to be a oneshot, but so many of you asked for more that I couldn't resist! ****:D **

**Thanks to Guest, for the very first review and wonderful compliment! Made my day.**

**The other Guest, thank you so much for clicking on my story anyway although you aren't familiar to Doctor Who! Thank you so much, I'm glad I managed to catch your attention and succeeded in the craftiness that I was trying to accomplish. That's definitely a great idea, I'll see what I can do!**

**Oreo: I'm glad, I was a little worried about that. **

**Chocolate and caramel: Oh, I know! I love Goth!Colin, especially when he's like "We've broken down!" and the other person goes, "Gee thanks, Jethro" and he replies in his creepy voice, "In the middle of nowhere!" With that expression XD I'm trying to go in depth.**

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**ArthurianDream: Your prompt really set me into action, here, so thanks!**

"Who's this now?" The ginger's voice echoes around the humming of the TARDIS, and Jethro is sure to close the door firmly shut behind him. Once he is convinced he's closed it well enough, he turns.

His mouth falls open.

He's definitely seen spaceships before- he's lived for thousands of years, he's seen almost everything. This ship isn't really any different- it has the same sort of paneling and flooring as far as Jethro can see, and the wires under the floor are obviously those of a spaceship- but this one is _bigger on the inside _than it is _on the outside._

There isn't much that can cause Jethro to lose his composure, but this is certainly one of those things. He feels excitement spark within him and can feel his eyes as they light up, and his body trembles with anticipation. This vessel absolutely thrums with magic- in the air, in the floors, in the walls- and Jethro feels complete. It is as if his soul is singing, and he closes his eyes for a moment, feeling immersed in togetherness. There is a voice at the back of his subconscious, whispering words of wisdom and love into his mind, and even though he can't make out the exact words, he is comforted. It almost feels like he is home.

Almost.

"Look at 'im," the ginger says with a little chuckle, "he's dumbfound!"

The Doctor only hums in response, and Jethro blinks, realizing that the spiky haired man is standing in front of him. His eyes are forever wide, but there is an intense concern in the chocolate orbs now. The Doctor's face is drawn and his lips are taut, and if possible, he seems to pale. "Are you alright?" He asks quietly, and Jethro can feel the Doctor as he radiates his worry. It must've been his expression that had set the older man off like this.

But how can Jethro form the words to describe this feeling? The feeling like, for once, he is doing something right, and how he feels like he is home, and how the ship is _made _of magic, and how his soul seems to be aflame?

"It's...bigger on the inside," is all Jethro can blankly muster.

The Doctor bursts into a beaming grin, and he suddenly seems like he is nine, not nine hundred. "I know," he says, raising his eyebrows and patting the console, "the TARDIS is...a great many things."

_Oh, I know,_ Jethro considers saying back, but he isn't a real teenager, and making the air heavier than it is again seems unnecessary. Besides, he sort of likes it when the Doctor talks; it lessens the oppressive silence of thought and the chatter is sometimes so ridiculous, it makes sense.

"So Doc," the ginger woman says again, "who's this kid?"

Jethro clenches his jaw and worries his lip between his teeth before he realizes what he is doing. He isn't a real teenager, he reminds himself. He can fully care for himself. He's been doing it for thousands of years, and can do it for thousands more. He doesn't need anyone.

So why does his chest feel like something is on top of it? Why is it suddenly so hard to take a breath?

"This," The Doctor says, gesturing grandly to Jethro, "is Jethro. He was aboard the Midnight Express with me when…" The Doctor trails off and swallows, suddenly haggard. His mask is repaired in seconds and he is talking within a second of when he stopped. "Anyways, he's with us now, and that's all that matters."

The little bubble that had formed in his chest pops, and Jethro can breathe again

"Hi," he manages- is it really so hard to talk to these people? "I'm...Jethro." He chokes on his name like he never has before, and the TARDIS seems to soothe, _it's alright._

The Doctor gives him an incredibly knowing look, and the ginger grins at him. "Hello," she greets, sticking out her hand. He grabs it and is astounded by the firm grip that meets him. "I'm Donna Noble."

He takes a shuddering breath and smiles at her. "Hello, Donna Noble."

She blinks, her gaze flickering down to their hands. "...You can let go now."

He shakes himself out of his head. "Sorry," he apologizes, dropping his own hand as she reclaims her own. "Haven't had someone shake my hand in a while." In fact, he's still used to the knights as they grabbed forearms instead of hands, and he has no idea when or why that changed, because surely grabbing someone's forearm displayed your lack of a weapon just as well as grabbing someone's hand did. Either way, he hasn't shaken many hands in the years he's lived, and is surprised by the naturalness it thrusts upon him to do so. He isn't sure if he likes this or not.

_Tell them, _the TARDIS encourages. _It's alright._

Donna has turned away from him. "Hey." He startles himself; when had he formed the thought, or even the will to begin to talk? "My name," he says, and he doesn't know where the words are coming from. "I...actually...my friends. They call me…" She's waiting so patiently for him as he stumbles over his sentence, an almost sympathetic look to her face. He swallows. "They call me Merlin. You can-" he clears his throat, attempting to unclog the lump that has formed there, "you can...call me that, if- er- if you like."

She stares at him a moment, as if she doesn't quite believe what he's saying, until she smiles. "Alright," she says easily, a grin lighting up her face. "Whatever you prefer." She looks to the ceiling, like she's remembering something. A huffy laugh escapes her lips. "Merlin, like the sorcerer to King Arthur in the legends," she remarks to no one, but Merlin finds he can no longer form thoughts.

"Yeah," he hears himself say. "Just like it."

She gives him one last smile, before turning to the Doctor, who is looking at him shrewdly. Merlin averts his eyes and swallows again, but doesn't know why he feels the need.

"So where are we going, Spaceman?" Donna asks, and the spiky haired man beams and runs to his console.

He braces his arms against two remotes and clicks a series of buttons, pumping and spinning various levers and switches. He honks a rubber duck and smacks a whack-a-mole, and Merlin raises his eyebrow at the Doctor, who is too busy to notice.

"We," The Doctor says, his eyes alight as he begins bracing himself once again, "are going to meet King Arthur!"

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**Hope you enjoyed and please, drop me a comment on what you thought!**


	3. Chapter 3

**Phew! SO much feedback! Thank you so much, everyone!**

**MamzelleHermy: Thank you so much!**

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**rowlingandriordanfan1: Aw, you flatter me with your 'as usual'! I love you guys, you all make me feel so wonderful. I'm sorry I almost caused you a hospital visit LOL! But I hope this was fairly quick for you, and you can stop freaking out.**

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If Merlin thought that he had seen it all, well, he was wrong. Because this, _this_ is definitely...something amazing.

Even though he feels like he might be sick from all the tossing, Merlin can't help but find himself grinning. They have obviously moved; there is no doubt in his mind. His excitement churns in his stomach along with his last meal, and he tries to ignore the growing anxiety in his chest. He hasn't seen his best friend in, what, two thousand years? Three? Will he be...different from what Merlin so fondly remembers? Arthur is...Arthur. He's a prat. He's an ignorant ass. He's a stubborn, stuck up prince.

He's righteous and noble and courageous, and everything Merlin thinks he ought to be.

And Merlin misses him like he misses a part of his soul.

He takes a deep breath, but it is strangled. He can't do this. He can't do this. He just...can't. He's waited for thousands of years for the moment Arthur returns to him, but just because he'll meet up with Arthur in his own way, he's so hesitant?

He failed Destiny once. He really doesn't want to fail her again.

The Doctor grins, white Chuck Taylors banging on the grating as he jumps from one level to another. "Here we are!" He shouts, excitement pulsing in the air surrounding him, "the time of King Arthur's reign, the seventh century, was often called the Golden Age because of its prosperous lands and economic boom," he informs, one hand resting on the TARDIS door. He didn't yet push it, though, lips pulled into one of his small smiles. "The greatest king who ever was, they called him."

Merlin feels something climb up his throat and push itself out of his mouth. "If he really was," he finds himself spitting, "he wouldn't have been doubted and forgotten."

Donna's mouth falls open as her eyes widen. The Doctor's face softens. "I'm sorry," he says quietly, his eyes sincere, "I am so, so sorry."

Merlin gulps, his lips trembling. He wishes he is strong, like Arthur is. He wishes he can be more intelligent about how he goes about things. He wishes he isn't so old but still manages to say the wrong thing. Most of all, he wishes that he isn't so full of regrets.

Donna clears her throat. The air is so thick, the silence is palpable. "Didn't he have people- friends called The Knights of-"

"The Round Table," Merlin says breathlessly, and Donna's eyes snap to him. "Yeah." Everyone is quiet as Merlin takes a breath and continues, the pain in his chest hindering his breathing. "Sir Gwaine, Sir Percival, Sir Leon, Sir Elyan and Sir Lancelot." His hands shake. "The greatest knights in the land."

"There was one more," Donna says quietly, and Merlin's stomach swoops. "What was his name? Morgan?"

There is cotton shoved into his mouth. "Mordred," he corrects, his mouth dry and his eyes burning, "his name was Mordred."

She grins, obviously not noticing his discomfort. It is a cheesy sort of a grin, though, and she turns to the Doctor with a fake smile. "Well, Marsian," she says, blinking, "now that we've had our little backstory, open the damn door!"

Merlin feels himself pale. His legs shake. He clenches his hands together, as if he can hide his emotions this way. He can't do this. He can't do this. Not yet.

He can't do this.

The Doctor shakes his head and sighs, but plasters a grin across his lips. "_Allons-y!" _

It is just as he remembers.

No.

It is better.

He is home. He can hardly believe it. The home he hasn't seen in centuries, right here in front of him, sparkling in the sunlight that reflects off the pristine castle walls. The cloudless sky smiles down on them, like it knows how he feels. The grass dances in the giggling breeze, both rejoicing at Magic's return. _The flowers are in bloom,_ Merlin thinks. It must be spring. It is warm, but the slight wind creates a chill. The leaves on the trees sway gently, greeting him as he grins at them.

He is home.

They've landed in a small clearing in the middle of the Forest of Ascetir. Dapples of light flitter across the twig littered ground. Little dust particles make themselves known as they float in the sunbeams, glittering in the air. There is a brook nearby- they can hear the soft bubbling it makes as it slicks over rocks. Insects buzz around their ears as they chase each other around the trees, and the breeze weaves itself between the three companions, embracing each in turn. It has missed him.

He has missed this place.

His lips break into a beaming smile, and he laughs, something clear and bell-like. He spins, staring up at the cerulean sky, the color of his own eyes. His face shines as he breaks into a run, and he knows the Doctor and Donna follow, because he can hear them crashing through the foliage behind him. He runs because he is full of energy and love and life, and he is home, and he has missed this place, and he feels whole. He runs because he knows this forest like the back of his hand, having memorized every tree, leaf, and grass stalk in his mind on hunts with Arthur, and still instinctually knows it after all this time.

He comes to the edge of the wood, and stops short, panting and laughing. The Doctor screeches to a halt beside him and Donna follows suite, muttering curses under her breath. "If I knew," she pants, "that you two were so fast," she pauses, heaving, "I would've demanded I get a head start!" She gulps in air greedily, like she's been deprived of it for her whole life.

Merlin grins, his cheeks permanently plastered in that position. He knows he looks wild- his hair is probably sticking up in all directions and with his gothic clothing he probably seems really out of place. The Doctor fairs no better, laughing hysterically, his hair even spikier than usual.

_Spikier a word? _Merlin wonders to himself, but shakes this away. _Oh, well. It is now._

"Where to?" Donna asks, and the Doctor turns to him.

Merlin blinks. "Uhh," he says, swallowing, "erm. Yeah." He points forwards, and through the trees, he could just see the drawbridge into Camelot. The guards are present (as always), but Merlin mutters an incantation under his breath. Clamoring rises from his left, and the guards, now successfully distracted , wander off in that direction to investigate. "This way," he breezes, and doesn't miss the Doctor's expression. His eyebrows raise and his lips curve ever so slightly upwards. He also doesn't miss the bewildered look that crosses Donna's face.

He saunters forward, feeling like he own the world. He closes his eyes and just walks, excitement building up inside him. He'll see Gaius first, he decides. Then Gwen. Then he'll visit the knights in the armory, where he knows they'll be, and then he'll go to the kitchens and greet everyone there. He'll go the library and see Geoffrey. He'll go to the servant's quarters and meet his friends there.

And Arthur.

His stomach sinks so prominently that he has to stop. He's going to throw up.

What if Arthur notices he's different? What if he...what he just isn't the same?

What if he hates Merlin for some reason?

What if he notices that Merlin has magic this time around? Would Merlin tell him? He should tell Arthur, Merlin knows. But what if things...don't turn out as well as they had?

Oh, Arthur died last time. That turned out really well.

He's so busy pondering this, he doesn't realize that he's still been walking, and the Doctor and Donna have just been dutifully following. He's almost upon the lower town. He doesn't know if he can do this anymore. He…

"_Merlin!" _Someone roars, and he freezes in his place. Panic flashes through his system- _what if what if what if what if- _"Where have you been?! I've been looking for you all morning!"

And he is barely aware of the hands clenches his arms tightly, and the blonde hair that swishes in and out of his vision. He ignores the glare the armor is casting into his eyes- why does that matter? He's far too busy staring.

"_Arthur?"_

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**_Oh, I'm evil! :D_**


	4. Chapter 4

**WHOA! I got such amazing feedback last chapter that here is the next one! :D**

** .rain: I know! I'm sorry, I couldn't resist ending it there! I know it was, I felt sort of guilty haha ;) OH MY GOSH. THANK YOU SO MUCH. I hope I pulled this off...maybe? I tried my very hardest...Aw, you make me blush! Thank you so much! I'm so happy you're so excited about this! **

**MamzelleHermy: Threw you a curveball there, did I?**

**rowlingandriordanfan1: Aw, thank you and thank you! I do pride myself on my cliff hangers ;) Except when I don't update fast enough. Then I kick myself. Either way, here's the chapter, so you aren't left suffering long :D**

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"_Arthur?"_

His best friend rolls his eyes, impatience woven into his posture. "Yes, you idiot, who else would I be? Where the hell have you been all morning?!" He pauses, and his eyes dance over Merlin's body. "What in Camelot's name are you wearing?!"

His brain won't work right. Everything seems colder than anything he's ever experienced, and he can't think. Everything seems like it's underwater, like his ears are waterlogged. "Arthur." He repeats, blinking. He can't do much else. His hands are numb.

Arthur sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose. "Yes, you imbecile," Arthur says through gritted teeth, "it's me."

"Arthur." He can't feel his legs- are they trembling? His whole body has gone absolutely numb, like he's floating above it all and seeing everything from a different perspective, like he is looking down at the scene instead of being in it.

"_Yes,_ Merlin, what is the matter with-whoa!"

He launches himself at the young king, wrapping his arms around his best friend's torso and squeezes as tight as he possibly can. He even smells the same- like pine and woodsmoke, and the little tinge of something that Merlin could never identify. He's still as muscular as ever, and he's wearing his red shirt, the one he puts on so often that Merlin has had to mend it more than once. His belt only has one or two additions to it- Arthur has either been working out, or they are in his younger days as King.

"Merlin, _what _are you-"

"Just hug me, you prat," he commands, his voice muffled against Arthur's shoulder. Arthur's hands remain above his head for another moment or two before they awkwardly rest on his back. His hands are rough and calloused, and just like Merlin recalls; strong from wielding his sword for days on end, but still so dexterous, like he can thread a needle if he so wishes.

"Merlin, _what _is the matter?" Arthur asks, and in that moment sounds so concerned and kindly that Merlin must lean back and release him. That isn't the Arthur her remembers, all concerned and worried. Nope. Merlin won't have it.

"Nothing," he breezes, "I just...missed you, that's all. I've been looking for you, too." It isn't a complete lie. Arthur stares at him with narrowed eyes, his expression one of someone who believes his friend has just lost his mind.

"...Right. Well, why didn't you look for me _in my room?!" _Arthur raises his voice, his face turning a colorful shade of rosy. "Come on, Merlin! I missed an extremely important council meeting thanks to your carelessness!" His voice is dangerously low. " Do you have _anything _to say for yourself?!"

And Merlin feels like a small, rebuked boy when he answers quietly, "...sorry?"

Arthur grabs at his hair, obviously resisting the urge to throttle his manservant. "Sorry. You're sorry."

"Yes."

Arthur runs a hand over his face, groaning. He seems to deflate a little before Merlin's eyes, and the manservant queries, "Arthur?" Trying to allow his friend to open up. This is about more than a council meeting.

"Merlin," Arthur says quietly, eyes downcast, "I...after Agravaine, and everything that's happened...Merlin, I just...I thought…"

And then it clicks.

"I've just been running errands for Gaius," he assures in his best devil-may-care tone. "I've been fine. I've just been so busy I forgot to wake you. I'm sorry...it won't happen again." This, of course, is a flat lie; it will definitely happen once more, probably tomorrow morning, but for now, it seems to do the trick. Arthur isn't amazing with emotions, Merlin knows, and he knows that the way he's gone about the whole thing has been strange for him, but he couldn't help it. Arthur straightens and clears his throat, his moment of vulnerability gone just as fast as it had appeared.

"Yes. Well. Be sure it won't happen again, Merlin, or else I might just have reason to re-acquaint you with the stocks."

Merlin bows mockingly low. "Of course, Sire, whatever you wish, Sire," he says dutifully, and he can sense Arthur's amused gaze trailed on his raven head. Ecstasy fading a little now, he's brought himself down to earth enough to realize that the Doctor and Donna are whispering to each other.

"That's _the _King Arthur!" Donna stage whispers, and Merlin can almost picture the Doctor's face.

"_I know!"_

He ignores them. Let them have their whispers. They have not yet actually seen what Arthur is like- noble and kind and righteous, and courageous and respectful and thoughtful. His body vibrates with excitement- he'll get to go on all their adventures again, and re-live all their different banters and experiences. He can hardly stand there and keep his composure.

Arthur's eyes sweep over him one more time before darting upwards, focused on something behind him. Merlin turns.

Arthur stares at his identically-strange dressed companions and swallows, raising his eyebrows. "And you are..?"

The Doctor blinks once before he is a flurry of movement, shaking Arthur's hand vigorously and introducing himself. "Hello there, Sir Arthur Pendragon! I'm the Doctor and it is a _real _pleasure to meet your acquaintance," he says, beaming and blowing air from his cheeks.

"And I'm Donna, Donna Noble," Donna says, curtsying before Arthur, who looks like he isn't sure whether to be flattered or wary. "It is really wonderful to meet you, Your Highness," she says breathlessly.

It didn't take a genius to figure out that Arthur is slightly uncomfortable. "Nice to meet you," he says in his best 'bravado' voice, and Merlin inwardly cringes. Arthur turns back to his futuristic friend and grimaces more than smiles, saying in that false pleasant voice only he can pull off, "Merlin, who are these people?"

Merlin barely has time to utter a poorly thought, "uhm…" before the Doctor is speaking at the speed of light.

"Ah, we're just travelers, place to place sort of a thing, you know the kind I'm sure Your Majesty," he breezes easily, waving his arms around. He's spoken quickly, and after he states this, he shoves his hands in his pockets and licks his lips. "Yeah, we just came in from a foreign village, no big deal really, just passing through."

Arthur blinks and swallows, and Merlin resists the urge to wring his hands. "Uh," he says, "sure. Of course. Whereabouts?"

The Doctor doesn't miss a beat when he responds. "Oh, thank you Your Majesty, that's just brilliant," he says, grinning. "And Merlin here will just show us the closest inn and then we'll return him to you...properly clothed and all. And we're just coming from a little village, not really on a map at all. Dubbed Midnight. Heard of it?"

Of course Arthur hasn't heard of it, and he responds as so. The Doctor shrugs. "Anyways," he brightens, "if we could just borrow J-Merlin for a few more moments, we'll be out of your hair."

Arthur takes a deep breath and Merlin knows his smile is forced. "Of course. I wish you the best stay during your time in Camelot." He turns to Merlin, and pulls him aside. He lowers his voice dangerously, index finger threateningly close to his nose. If Merlin knows what Arthur can do with a spoon and a glove, he truly doesn't want to know what he can do without any props. "If you ever go missing on me again, Merlin," he says lowly, crystal eyes holding an intense warning, "I'll feed you to the dogs. Is that clear?"

Merlin nods vigorously, swallowing.

Arthur smiles through his teeth. "Good. I'll see you later on tonight, then."

And Merlin can't even form words as Arthur turns away, swishing his cape behind him and looking for all the world like the day is completely normal, and he hasn't resurrected from the dead.

* * *

"The Rising Sun?" Donna questions, and Merlin purses his lips in confirmation. "Funny name, for a bar."

"Tavern," Merlin automatically corrects, wincing when she shoots him a look that clearly says shut up.

"Merlin?" She asks, and it takes all of his willpower to make his voice sound steady.

"Shut up?"

"Exactly."

He swallows and jumps the last three steps to the second flight of stairs, walking down the hall and making a left into their room. It's little, and has a screen separating two sections of the room. There are two double beds on each side, and chamber pots in the corners. All in all, the room is dull, the only light being the candlesticks on the bedside tables and the barred windows on either end of the room, horizontal to the door.

It's perfect for the Doctor and Donna, though, and they aren't complaining.

There is a palpable silence as everyone collects their thoughts. And then the Doctor says: "...We just met King Arthur." There is something in his tone that Merlin cannot identify, but Donna grins, sounding incredibly giddy.

"_I know! _He's real!"

"_I know!"_ The Doctor's voice has risen as his tone has become hysterical, and he grabs at his hair as he dances around his red headed companion, looking like he has all the universe on his fingertips. Donna giggles.

"I just met King Arthur!"

"Oh Donna, you've done so much more than that!" The Doctor shouts, spinning and pacing. "You've even met his sorcerer!"

Donna's brows furrow. "His sorcer-" she stops short, eyes widening as she stares at Merlin, who ducks his head. "No," she says, eyes huge and face pale. "No. No, no, no, no."

"_Oh yes!"_

"No!"

"_OH YES!"_

At this point, Merlin needs to sit down. He feels lightheaded suddenly, like he can't breathe, and he can't think. He plops down atop one of the beds, clutching his forehead with one hand and squeezing his knee with the other. Arthur had been...Arthur. He had been a prat. He had been...he is the same. He hasn't changed. He hadn't...doesn't hate Merlin. He doesn't know anything about Merlin's magic. He doesn't remember every Merlin has done for him. He doesn't know what Merlin has gone through, or how long he's waited.

And suddenly the Doctor is kneeling in front of him, brows furrowed and eyes so incredibly compassionate, and endlessly melancholy, almost like the universe. He has all the burden of life on his shoulders, as if he knows what Merlin is thinking. "Are you alright?" He asks softly, and Donna gently thrusts a goblet of water into his hand. He accepts it without question.

"Fine," he says, but his voice sounds distant. "Why?"

The Doctor purses his lips, and an incredible sigh escapes him.

"Because," he says quietly, "you're crying."

* * *

**...yeah. Sorry. Merlin's a little emotional and...in shock...and...super upset...**

**Okay! Thanks to everyone who have favorited, followed, and (of course) commented! Please, leave me comment on what you thought of this chapter and thanks for reading!**


	5. Chapter 5

**Next chapter! Wow, my muse went from Teen Wolf and totally jumped to this and said, "YAY DOCTOR WHO!" And just to be mean, kicked my other Merlin story into the dust. Bad muse, bad!**

** .rain: Your name always disappears here for some reason to just .rain, so I'm sorry about that. LOL I love your enthusiasm! I was a little worried, thank you for reassuring me. I think I'd cry, too, from the shock of it all. I'm so glad I didn't disappoint! And thus, you are not complaining.**

**Guest: Aww, thank you! You wouldn't believe how amazing you guys make me feel.**

**MamzelleHermy: Thank you! I'm so happy you love this story so much!**

* * *

It isn't that Donna Noble is insensitive-she's just not the best with feelings, and considering she travels with the Doctor (who has shields to keep emotions inside, not out) she hasn't had much practice wielding that side of her for a while.

Which is why all she can think to do when tears track down Merlin's cheeks is go get him a glass of water. Stupid, stupid.

She clomps down the steps, her flats slamming down on each wooden step, echoing back up the hallway. She and the Doctor definitely need a change of clothes, not to even mention Jeth- Merlin. It's hard to get used to that. They're in the seventh century, and unless she wants to invent denim, pinstripes, and T-shirts early, she needs to get to the nearest taylor.

She asks the bartender for a glass (to which he cocks his head to the side and questions if she means a goblet) and gives him her best, "hurry up before I blow a gasket on you" face. He hastens to fetch a pitcher of water and pours it with shaky hands, muttering a quiet, "uh, that'd be a shilling!"

She ignores him, of course, and makes her way back up the flight of stairs, her prize clutched in her hands.

The Doctor is kneeling in front of their companion, face soft (soft like she knows he is, on the inside) and is speaking softly to him. Donna approaches slowly, not sure if it is her place to interrupt, but she gently pushes the goblet into Merlin's fist, waiting until his spindly fingers curl around it to let go. He accepts it without question, and merely grips it. It is something solid, steadfast in a world that is falling apart, a world where everything Merlin had grown to know is crumbling. There had been no such thing as time travel. It was unreal. The Doctor, the magnificent man- for all of his triumphs, it had been too much, too fast for Merlin. Too much.

Donna knows this feeling, and something tugs painfully at her heartstrings as Merlin's face crumbles like his world, and he sits there, and tears roll of his chin into his black, low hanging jeans. And her heart breaks in time with his hitching breaths, like he can't draw enough air to properly breathe. She wants to hug him, the echo of a maternal memory stirring. He may be thousands of years old (something she hasn't allowed to quite sink in, yet) but he is still a teenager in more ways than one. He still needs a hand to guide him, a light in dark times, someone to hold him through the thickest of moments. She knows that she cannot be that someone. But she can try.

He had run in the forest when they first arrived. Ran from what, she doesn't know, and probably will never know, but he had been laughing. He had been smiling and staring and prancing and dancing amongst the trees as his feet pounded against the leaf-blanketed ground, joy radiating from his very being. She hadn't understood it at the time. Now she does.

It had clearly been the actions of a man who had returned home. He is home. He is back where he belongs.

Her heart breaks as tears continuously trek down his pale, alabaster cheeks, the cerulean eyes shining with such intense emotion she is tempted to look away. He has been through so much, all alone. She wants to help him.

She doesn't know how.

"Hey there," she tries. His eyes flicker up to her own, so full of misery and loneliness that she almost regrets calling attention to herself. "You're back, ain't you? You get to see him again! You get to go on all your adventures, all of your quests again, together! You get to talk and walk and laugh with him still, just like you did!" She changes her stance, hands on her hips. "And I think that's something worth smiling about. No tears."

He sniffs, the self doubt he grips in his heart reflecting in his eyes. "B-but," he says, and his voice wavers, "but...what if, h-he d-doesn't...doesn't…"

She sighs, and looks down at him. "Doesn't what?"

Merlin sniffs, wiping at his nose. "Nevermind," he says, and she can clearly see the reassembly of his walls. "It's...nevermind." He brightens visibly, but she can sense its fakeness. She doesn't dare call him out on it, though. He jumps to his feet, pacing around the room. The Doctor slowly rises. "First off," Merlin says, clapping his hands and wiping casually at his cheeks, "we need some clothes." He laughs. "Remember Arthur's-" he stumbles only a little over the King's name, "Arthur's face when he saw what I was wearing?!"

Donna musters a smile for his sake. "Yeah," she responds, voice deliberately amused, "like he had the surprise of his life."

The Doctor only hums.

"I'll go get us clothes," Merlin says easily, opening the door. "You guys can just stay here for a little while. People know me, at least, and I'm quirky enough in general to just be passed off." He pauses. "You guys'll attract attention, though."

"Yeah," Donna agrees, although she thinks he wants to be alone more than anything. "You're probably right. We'll just stay here, then."

Merlin nods. "Yeah, probably just best for the moment, until you're wearing more traditional clothing."  
"Yeah."

Merlin sniffs one more time, and summons an awkward smile. He scratches the back of his head. "I'll...see you later, then."

"Yeah," Donna replies, "see you."

And just like that, he's gone.

Donna counts to ten in her head, listening for the sound of Merlin's boots on the wood. She waits until she can hear them no more, then queries, "Doctor?"

He's got a look on his face, a look that clearly says he's thinking, and Donna wants to know his thoughts. He snaps out of his mind with a small grunt, eyes traveling the room before they land on her. "Oh, Donna! Sorry, lost in thought there a moment." He grins his usual 'I'm always fine' grin, and she crosses her arms.

"Doctor."

He shakes his head, face falling. His lips are pursed and his eyes are intense. "Donna," he warns, and this is enough to make her put it at rest. For now.

"Doctor." She replies in her best 'we're talking about this later' tone, but he doesn't seem to care. "Are we just going to wait until Merlin comes back?"

The Doctor shrugs, falling backwards onto the bed. "Not much else we can do," he says lightly, voice drawling. "Except maybe do some shopping of our own."

Her interest is piqued. "Doctor?" She questions, but he's on his feet in a matter of seconds, back to his cheery, daredevil self.

"_Allons-y!" _He cries with a grin, and, tucking his sonic screwdriver back into his pocket, darts down the stairs.

* * *

They're lost.

Donna kicks at the dirt road, scowling. The Doctor has managed to get the two of them lost, alone, in Camelot, back in time, without Merlin.

Brilliance at its finest.

Night has fallen, the inky sky settling on the lower town like a blanket. The moon shines brightly above them, the face in it smiling down on the two of them, but refusing to offer help. The stars wink down on them, watching over them, but Donna can't bring herself to be grateful at all. They're lost, she's cold, and the Doctor isn't doing anything but scanning his sonic and checking the results. Apparently, it's also a compass of some sort.

She huffs. "Anything?" She questions, but her companion doesn't reply. "Yeah, didn't think so," she murmurs. "Why don't we just stop and ask directions?" She suggests, but the Doctor obviously ignores her. "Oi! What is it with men and asking directions?!"

"If I got to meet a pretty lady every time I gave someone directions," a slightly husky voice drawls from her left, "I'd be giving directions more often."

Donna stops short, her eyes widening. "Who is it?" She demands, clenching her fists. Something crawls up her throat, making it hard for her to speak. She swallows, gulping audibly. "Who is it? Y'know it isn't polite, lurking about in the dark!"

"Who said I was lurking?" The voice asks, amusement clear in the tone. "Maybe I just want to help a couple of people out."

"What do you want?" The Doctor asks quietly, but the air is suddenly tense. The Doctor's voice holds a threatening undertone, a dangerous sort of a growl.

"Okay, relax," The man says, coming out of the shadow and into the light of the moon. He's ruggedly handsome, with shoulder length, wavy, chocolate colored hair and a scruffy beard that seems to suit him. His eyes are hazel, and dance with an impishness that outdoes even the Doctor's mischievousness. He's obviously muscular, and dressed in chainmail, armour, and the reddest cape she's ever seen. "I'm a knight. I can help. People like you shouldn't be wandering around, especially at night. It's dangerous."

"Yeah," Donna says, shooting the Doctor a look, "we know. We're trying to get back to our inn."

The man grins. "Whereabouts?"

"You probably don't happen to know what it's called," The Doctor says quickly, and Donna shoots him a look.

"Doctor!" She hisses, and he stares at her with wide eyes.

"Oi! I might just," the man says, a defensive sort of tone. Donna gives the Doctor a glare, which he purses his lips at.

"Yeah, he might," Donna says, brow furrowed, "so you just be quiet, you."

"Where you looking for?" The man asks kindly, crossing his arms over his chest and leaning against the wall once more. Instead of looking threatening though, he looks at ease.

Donna takes a deep breath, trying not to get her hopes up. He said he was a knight, but that didn't mean he was above trickery. "The Rising Sun inn," she confides. "Know it?"

The man throws back his head and laughs. "'Course I do!" He exclaims, still chuckling. "I'm there whenever I'm not with Merlin, Percival, or the Princess."

"You know Merlin?" The Doctor asks, brows furrowed. The man grins that impish grin again.

"Do I ever," he says. "He's my best friend. Come on. Rising Sun is this way." He saunters off in the opposite direction the Doctor and Donna had been walking, and she shoots her companion a pointed look that says, "see?"

"What's your name?" She asks the man's back, and he turns to smirk at her.

"I'm called Gwaine," he replies, his eyes twinkling in the moonlight.

* * *

**Oh, I love Gwaine. I'm sorry. I couldn't help myself. Please, leave me a comment on what you thought, and thanks for reading! I don't know how many chapters I'll get up in the next week. I'm crazy busy. **


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